Similar Causes And Effects
by coldlove
Summary: In which Draco Malfoy escapes a long stay in a place he never wanted to be. Sequel to Causes and Effects. Rated M for future scenes. A story begun before the release of HBP.
1. A Simple Escape

Yay, new story! For those who haven't read the prequel, there is one and it is entitled 'Causes And Effects', so read that before you start this. And to those of you who are itching for this chapter, well, on with the new story.

Oh wait, just a second. I've been trying to figure out a way to do this, since some people haven't read HBP. So, if your review didn't mention any HBP details, it will before the chapter. Spoiler responses will come after.

Ok, now you can read.

**GremlinTownIdiot**: You weren't going to cry over this story, right?

**SalemWitch**: Righto.

**Soofija**: Ah, Soofija. I actually find myself relating more to Draco than Hermione, that might be it…

And thanks to **aloneinaworldofdarkness**, **lnk**, **Captain-Ammie**, **maddudewalking**, **giggling munky**, **HiraTsubasa**, **faye**, **bluebaby3296**, **padfootedmoony**, **Nattie88**, **Arime Setta**, **anonymus**, **Harrison J. Pecans**, **EquestrianBabe**, **Delight Summers**, **Buffy-CrazyaboutAngel**, **DanRadcliffe5666**, and **eventers club** for reviewing.

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**A Simple Escape**

Draco could almost see the brilliance of her smile in his mind, even imagine the smell particular to her hair filling his nostril—and then he awoke and realized that it was only in his head, and the reality of the situation was that there was no Hermione. The reality was that there had been no Hermione for years, that he was sitting on a dusty prison floor, and that there were several dementors in his cell. The room was dark but slivers of moonlight broke through the bars of his window. The window was tauntingly useless, Draco knew; had he been able to look through it, all to greet him would have been an expanse of dark ocean. He was not always angered by the height and worthlessness of the window, however. When the moon sank he would sit on the spot on which he knew the sun would shine and wait for it to rise. He pulled the shabby cot to that spot in the daytime, but usually withdrew it at night, because the moon's light did not have the heat or luminosity of the sun. That night he had already pulled his cot to the sun-appointed spot, and was waiting for the moon to set when the dementors appeared.

Draco was immediately alerted to something being wrong by the presence of more than one of them. Usually he was visited by one of the creatures just before he woke; he would feel his dream being pulled away and then he would awake to see the ripped black robes looming over him—as if waiting for him to spout more subconscious happiness—and then it would eventually go away. It was different that morning, however, with four of the creatures there. Draco imagined for a moment that they were there to free him, but that had been a dream he'd thrown away in the first year of his stay there. In any case, his sentence was supposed to be a lifelong one.

They remained in their spot, floating in the air, and the door of the cell creaked. The sound drew his attention and he almost missed a voice that whispered, "Well, go ahead", and then Draco backed away as the dementors began moving towards him. No. No, this was impossible. The Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot had promised him a lifelong sentence, but no death. And his stay in Azkaban had not yet drained him of all sense. This was something worse than death coming right at him. In the five years of his imprisonment Draco had never once given thought to the idea of death as an escape. Perhaps he was vain, but death did not have much of an appeal to him.

The dementors were quicker than he remembered, and soon Draco found himself cornered at the end of the rather long cell. None had yet motioned to grab him. He risked a look at the door and saw it had opened to an almost forty-five degree angle. Someone was there, obviously hoping to watch the job being done. But with that open door there was an escape. He didn't dare to let the idea form into anything more. It was simply a goal. _Reach the door, get to the door, and then you can think something more of it. _

Draco broke through the dementor closest to him, and was instantly chilled. The person at the door didn't seem to realize Draco had moved until he was almost at the door, and then the bars slammed shut against him. Employing all the force he still had in his long-unused muscled Draco reached a hand through the bars, grabbing the robes of the person outside and pulling them along with the door. There was a gasp of surprise and then he had the door open, and was sprinting down the long corridor—past the bars of other cells, some empty and others filled with inmates who were most likely all still asleep—and up the staircase at the end of the hallway.

Now he could think of escape, and think of it he did. There was no thought for the person who had almost orchestrated his death, only for reaching that thin sliver of moonlight that was coming through the door. He reached the end of the corridor and pulled at the door handle, not surprised to find that it opened, and then suddenly he was outside and standing on upturned earth, looking at the ocean that lay spread before him. He quickly scanned the area around him and found that a broomstick was lying on the ground. And with that he took off.

Now was the time to truly think about escape. Draco's hands clutched the shaft of the broom tightly as he lifted himself off the ground. He hovered for a moment, trying to bring back to mind his knowledge of Azkaban's situation in the wizarding world. According to the text he'd read, it was somewhere north of Scotland. But the sky was pitch black; the moon had sunk somewhere in the time he'd faced the dementors, and he would have no way of knowing in which direction he should be heading. He would have to fly in the direction the broom's twigs had faced and hope that he didn't tire out and fall into the ocean. Though, Draco mused, there was a likely chance of that happening no matter what direction he chose. He gazed down at the water as he flew, frightened for a few moments before he relaxed. The ocean was darker than the sky above it and rippling; watching the semi-calm of the water allowed Draco the chance to really think since he'd escaped the prison.

Leaving out what had happened inside the cell, it would seem almost that someone had wanted him to get free. It had been too easy for him to leave the prison. The doors all open, the broomstick waiting, the cover of night to hide him; Draco could almost rejoice at the fact that he somehow gotten free of the prison, but the fact was someone had wanted him dead. He imagined that the Ministry would do something to that effect; they would have loved to execute every Death Eater they could convict and Draco was the only one to know he had truly been innocent. It would have been simple, and quiet, and no one would have mourned his death. But this had been a sloppy job, something Draco had to appreciate even though it had been an attempt on his life. In that case, someone else wanted him dead. But it didn't matter anymore because that opportunity had been effectively lost.

How long he had been flying, Draco could not tell, but he was almost positive that three hours had passed before he finally saw land. It was with something that was almost joy that he landed half an hour later and collapsed from exhaustion a few yards into the shore. He felt in no condition to continue on, but he knew he could not just lie on the sand. Most likely if he stayed there he would never move again, but he almost enjoyed the look of the sky and ocean; it reminded him of his cell in Azkaban. Sunlight was just beginning to lighten the sky, and as Draco picked himself and the broom up, he realized that the reason he'd felt so cold was the light layer of snow covering the sand beneath him.

Always one to be logical, Draco realized that he could probably now Apparate safely somewhere. His first thought was of food, but then he thought of magic. Magic first, food later, because magic was more important. He was wandless and weak, and just as vulnerable as a Muggle. It took him a while to focus and Apparate to Hogsmeade, but Draco was thankful after years of idleness his magic had not yet left him.

The scene inside Hogsmeade almost had him reeling. It looked like a different town; no wonder he'd had so much difficulty Apparating there. Almost all of the shops he'd remembered from his adolescence had been uprooted, replaced by new, livelier versions of themselves. He had landed himself in front of where Ollivander's had been. In its place was another wand shop, but with a different sign hanging above its entrance. All the other shops seemed to be still closed and this shop in particular was just beginning to open. The owner inside was examining wands and putting up signs when Draco knocked on the door.

After a second's hesitation, the man peered out of the window trying to see who was outside. Then after another moment's consideration, the man came to the door and opened it, then began closing it back once he saw who he was looking up at. Before the door could shut completely Draco reached out a hand and pushed it back.

"Lucius Malfoy!" The short, graying old man shuddered in his spot. "You can't come in here!"

Confusion took Draco for only a second before he realized who the scared little man thought he was. He almost had the urge to laugh, but then saw that the man was slowly backing up towards the counter where an array of wands laid spread out.

"I'm not Lucius Malfoy," Draco said desperately, moving towards him.

"Like hell you're not," the little man said. Suddenly he turned and grasped at the counter.

"No!" Draco lunged towards the counter, knocking the wands out of the man's reach and grabbing at one of his shoulders. "Listen to me," Draco said as he pushed the smaller man into a wall, "It's just a bad resemblance. I only need a wand…"

The man's eyes were round with fright as he stared up at Draco. "Are you mad!"

"No, I just…" Draco realized he was practically assaulting him and loosened his grip on the man's robes, "need a wand. I'm sorry," and he released him, backing away from the man who was now looking up at him with terror and a bit of suspicion.

"Why don't you just take one of these lying right here?" The man backed away, keeping his eyes on Draco as he bent to pick up the wands he had scattered on the floor. When Draco didn't do anything he stooped to pick them up, and then moved behind the counter. He picked a wand and focused it on Draco.

"I need one that's suited for me," Draco said a little more desperately, and raised his hands so that the shop owner would know he meant no more harm.

"Why?" The owner's voice was now full of suspicion, and also a bit of curiosity.

"I just…I need one now. Please," Draco said, "I-I'm sorry about that just now."

"Are you now?" The owner stared him down for a moment, then motioned for him to move towards the counter. "Dominant hand," he commanded, and Draco gave up his right arm for investigation.

"So," the owner's tone was almost amiable as they had fallen into silence, "tell me why you need this wand so badly. Why not wait like a normal customer and ask proper—"

"Do I look in condition to be a _normal_ customer?"

"Well…no, but why do you—"

"I just lost my wand a while ago, ok? Haven't had it, been feeling a little vulnerable, you know what I mean?"

"Why, yes I do."

They fell back into silence as the wandmaker began walking around the shop in search of a few wands, and Draco began to think back on the first words to come out of the owner's mouth. So he looked like his father, did he? Draco definitely had not yet thought of his appearance since his escape, and so peered into the glass of the counter. What he saw there was not much of a surprise. There were several inches of dark golden hair covering his cheeks and chin, and his eyes seemed permanently widened in suspense. No wonder the man thought him a lunatic. And if the light were not just playing a trick on him, his eyes seemed much darker than they had previously been. Then there was his hair, which was well on its way past his shoulders. It was too long, and Draco's first thought of it was that it had to go immediately, that this was the reason the shop owner had identified him as his father. The bastards at the Ministry would not allow him to cut it when he'd asked. Really, it had been such a simple request and they had refused to grant it.

"So my-Malfoy is still alive? Lucius Malfoy?" Draco asked the wandmaker.

The shorter man eyed him in consideration before speaking. "Have you been away from the wizarding world too?"

"Yes," Draco said hesitantly. "For a while."

"Well, yes, most likely, though no knows where he is. You must not have ears to have missed such a thing. For months after the war ended they searched for Lucius Malfoy, and then gave up once they lost his trail. Kind of like when You-Know-Who was around, but not as serious you know, Malfoy didn't have an army of supporters behind him. Just an escaped Death Eater they planned on capturing once he reappeared." The wandmaker paused before he spoke again. "You do know who He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is, right?"

"Yes yes, I haven't been gone for that long…Is that the wand?" Draco asked in an attempt to change the subject. The wandmaker nodded and handed it to Draco, who immediately pocketed it. He almost gave the man a sheepish smile upon realizing that he could not pay for it. "Look, I don't have any money to give you right now, but I'll come back as soon as possible."

"You can't just take it without—"

"I'm sorry, I'll come back—" Draco ducked as the shop owner raised his wand and attempted to immobilize him. The hex hit a robe stand, knocking it over, and then Draco was slamming the door open and running out into the open air.

"Scoundrel!" he could hear the shop owner as he Apparated to the first place that came to mind.

The Mansion. According to the shop owner, his father was in hiding, but he would be stupid to attempt hiding here. Draco figured he was safe to enter the building; he hesitated, however, at the idea of having to remember the protective spells and wards kept over it. However, they were unneeded; any magic that had been was now long gone. Obviously the place had been unused for years, Draco thought as he pushed the front door open. A quick scan of the entryway confirmed this, and Draco stepped inside, reflexively closing the door behind himself.

Now he could think about food, though Draco doubted there would be anything fresh still in the house. He headed for the drawing room instead, hoping that the Malfoy vault hidden underneath had not been emptied out. And he was in luck, because they were not, although it looked as if a significant amount of money had been removed since he had last been there. Draco spied a golden purse among the money and quickly filled it with as many of the heavier coins as possible, and then headed for the staircase. He didn't want to stay there any longer than necessary, no matter how safe his logical mind told him he was for the moment.

Draco emerged from the basement and headed up the twisted staircase to the next floor. On this level were the bedrooms and Draco was curious to know what had happened to them. The door to his room was closed, but not locked. Draco pushed it open and was surprised by what he saw. One would almost be incognizant of its disuse if not for the light layer of dust covering everything. The room looked as it had been five years ago, perfectly untouched. Draco approached the closet and pulled it open. A dozen robes, some dress and some casual, hung on their hangers. Draco pulled out the closest one and threw it over his head. It was too big as he had lost weight in prison, and yet not long enough. Surely he had not grown during his stay in Azkaban…But it would have to do. He pulled out a cloak, which was also too short for him, and was about to leave the room when his attention was caught by the drawer next to the window. As if an invisible force was calling him Draco walked towards it and pulled open the bottommost drawer. There, as far back as he could have placed it was the suede box from five years ago.

Instantly memories of the trip to Hogsmeade with her came back to him. Draco flicked open the box and took up the chain, hesitating for only a moment before putting it in the pocket of his robes. Why he had not returned it years ago, and why he was taking it now, Draco could not say. But having the chain with him only made the memories stronger, which for the moment that was a good thing. He imagined he could see her expression when she'd first spotted the necklace for herself; she'd been enraptured by a relatively simple piece of jewelry…And then Draco remembered that he shouldn't stay too long. There were other things in this room that he might still want, but he would come back for them at another time. Draco closed the drawer with his foot and left, closing the door behind him.

Having taken the chain Draco quickly left the building. The sun was high in the sky, meaning that it was sometime around noon, and Draco took a seat on the front steps of the Mansion. More thinking was required before he made another move, a lot more. It was only a matter of time before the Ministry realized he had escaped the prison, and then he would have to be very very careful. Most likely before the week was out there would be posters all over the main village and warnings in the newspaper. He would just have to use his time wisely until then. Draco tried to focus on the essentials—what he would need before he did anything else, like a better set of robes and other clothing, and a shower—but thoughts of chocolate suddenly filled his consciousness. It took a while before he realized what his mind was trying to tell him, and then Draco stood and quickly Apparated to the village.

The Honeydukes of his adolescence was still in place, and it was this store that Draco first entered, intent on getting his hands on some sort of chocolate. Unfortunately it was full of other patrons and he was obliged to keep his head down and move quickly. The worker behind the cashier eyed him curiously before asking if the pound of chocolate in his hand was all he wanted.

"Yes," he mumbled, trying to keep his voice unrecognizable. As the cashier began bagging his purchase Draco noticed a copy of The Prophet lying next to the register.

"That's today's paper?" he muttered, pointing towards it.

"Yeah—"

"May I have a look at it?"

"Oh sure, take it with you," the cashier said.

Draco nodded his thanks and left the store. Hurrying over to an isolated alley, he quickly took note of the date—it was December 14, 2003—and began flipping through the paper. Nothing. Draco breathed a sigh of relief as he closed the paper. Even if it was just one day, at least he had a bit more time to figure out what he was going to do. Draco wandered out of the alley and began walking up and down the cobbled street. He noted that along with the numerous new shops in the village there was also a set of apartment housing which had not been there a few years before. Draco spent the rest of the day walking the streets, exploring the village while immersed in thought.

If not for retaining his life, Draco would have thought his escape from Azkaban to have been a useless thing. Now that he had devoured the hunk of chocolate, he found himself really considering his situation. Sure, he had his freedom, but it was almost worthless under these circumstances. He desperately needed somewhere to go and very quickly considered the idea of turning himself if. Though, if the Ministry found him there was a very good chance they would sentence him to the Kiss this time around. The prospect of hiding was not a very promising one. There was no one in this world who would be willing to take him in, and he could not walk around Disillusioning himself forever. Perhaps this escape had been pointless after all.

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**SPOILER RESPONSES!**

**Lauren**: I'm a shameless reader too…

**cherbi161**: So you think Dumbledore was asking Snape to do it, and not to save his life?

**Lizzle87**: Ooh, I blame his family too.

**Kim**: Well, I'm still not sure if I think Snape is good (well, as good as he can be) or evil. The way Rowling wrote it makes me question this because, as you said, Snape did not hesitate to kill him…

**NorthStar2005**: Hahah, yes. Well, the crying is unnecessary, because I promise things will get better from here.

**Burningtrust**: I think so too.

**Priah**: First, let me say I loved your review (probably because it's the longest I've had so far, but…). You made a lot of excellent points, and it's true, no one really seems to want to discuss this. But at least I've got you. :)

Anyways, I'd like to thank you guys for all your theories. They're really helping me out here. Truthfully, what I'm trying to do with this Snape theory I've made up is decide which situation makes more sense, because just going by what the story seems to be saying, I would think Snape is one evil bastard. What I would really like to do is argue both sides, and decide which is more convincing. But I haven't really attached myself to either idea. So, if you're curious like I am let me know what you think. Maybe we can come up with one super-theory that explains everything—and then Rowling will send out book seven and it'll turn out that Harry doesn't need to hunt down Horcruxes and everyone but Voldemort and Neville will be dead. Just kidding. :)

As for Snape…Well, I'm thinking a bit about Legilimency now. Perhaps the moment in which he held Dumbledore's gaze there was some sort of information exchange? I do believe Dumbledore knew about the Vow, now that I think about it. He was all angry when Harry mentioned Snape and Draco arguing; maybe because he knew he was going to die? And then he says more than once that Harry's life is more important than his own…

And no, there will be no Dumbledore in this story. Sorry, guys. Though I am interested in what his portrait will have to contribute…


	2. Catching Up

**SalemWitch**: I agree with you somewhat, as you will see in this chapter.

**Medea Callous**: So you seemed to have a bit of a problem believing what happened in the prequel. I blame it on the hormones; every time. :) My question, then, is whether or not you like the story. And what about a dirty, unshaven Draco?

**Arime Setta**: Damn, and I liked that scene a lot…I just wanted someone to say 'scoundrel'. :)

**gigglingmunky**: I hope you're not reading only to catch my errors…

And thanks to **aloneinaworldofdarkness**, **Sunflower18**, **DeadRose21**, **R3mz1mlu**, **SexyDraco04**, **Soofija**, **Scoopy**, **Captain-Ammie**, **HiraTsubasa**, **Nattie88**, **Weaselbee**,** purplecrazy2291**,** Lizzle87**, **luvyou4ever**, **lollylover**, **mysteriouscharm**, **padfootedmoony**, **Harrison J. Pecans**, **Delight Summers**, **rat-gal2000**, **DanRadcliffe5666**, **GremlinTownIdiot**, **draco2hot4me**, and **Moonglitter2 **for reviewing

I am so sorry for not having updated in the longest time, but this chapter was especially hard to write, considering what happens (no one dies, though, so don't worry). Some of you may not be happy when you've read it, but I assure you this is not a permanent situation.

Also, I'm sure many are wondering why exactly Draco was in jail. Somehow it seems to all make sense in my mind, then I remember that I'm the only one who knows the entire plot. Why he was put into jail is not extremely important, but I'm sure if you think for a few seconds you'll figure it out. Quite a simple but silly reason, I think.

Anyways, spoiler responses at the bottom…

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**Catching Up**

Hermione smiled. Then she frowned. She had every reason to be excited and happy, and yet there was something nagging at the back of her mind. However, she pushed the feeling away and tried to focus on what Harry was saying. He was currently leading her into The Three Broomsticks for what she assumed would be a drink or two before they finally retired for the night. Hermione smiled back at him as he helped her into a seat and then sat down across from her. He asked what she wanted and she gave him the first answer that came to mind. Harry quickly addressed the waitress and then turned back to her.

Hermione was well aware of what the look in his eye meant—hopeful, passionate, imaginative. Harry was hoping that it would be the night they finally consummated their relationship. And from an objective point of view, Hermione supposed that it was about time they did so. They had been dating for about six months, and in all that time Harry had not so much as hinted at the idea—not until now. He had suggested earlier that day that they go on a date and Hermione had readily agreed. According to Harry, she was the hardest-working witch ever, and Hermione honestly could not contest the fact. Her work was her life; her post at St. Mungo's had been the only constant in her life for the past five years. After Harry disappeared from the wizarding world and Ginny and Ron began operation of the first Wheezing Weasleys branch in France, Hermione had taken the first job she'd been offered as a part-time nurse. Since then she'd been working her way up the corporate ladder to her current position as president of the hospital.

It was less than a year ago that she'd first seen Harry again, walking through Hogsmeade like someone's lost pet. Their mutual surprise at meeting had quickly turned into something more, though what that something was Hermione couldn't really say. Harry said that he'd been living with the Weasleys for a week before he'd finally decided to make this visit to the village. Hermione smiled at the memory. He'd been visibly shocked at the village's appearance, if it could be called that anymore. The town had expanded greatly after Voldemort's fall, until it was home to dozens of shops and people. Homes had begun going up around the lake's edge, and work on a second apartment building had just been started by the time Harry had reappeared.

As had become their habit, Hermione did not ask questions, and so she knew little about where Harry had disappeared to after finally defeating Voldemort. He had been a witness to the Death Eater trials, and then the savior of the wizarding world had disappeared from it almost as suddenly as he'd entered. Hermione had not been surprised, unlike everyone else; she imagined herself in his shoes and his hiatus from their world seemed like the logical thing to do. But when Harry returned, Hermione had realized just how much she'd missed him and all of the friends she'd grown up with.

They'd run into each other in the afternoon while Hermione was on a lunch break, and she'd spent the rest of her free time walking with and talking to Harry and repeating how much she'd missed him since he'd left. She'd returned to work with the knowledge that Harry was once again a part of her life, and the feeling particular to the end of a date that had gone well.

Word had gotten around quickly enough that Harry Potter was back in town, and in a surprisingly short amount of time workers from the Ministry of Magic were stopping by the Weasley residence daily to persuade him to consider the idea of becoming one of the Wizengamot. In a matter of weeks Harry was working at the Ministry and any hope Hermione had of spending quality time with him was crushed. However, Harry was not as easily deterred as she, and a few days after accepting the position at the Ministry, he appeared at her workplace and asked her out to lunch.

It had been a random moment in time, and there had been few repeats of lunch dates since then. Their schedules did not allow them time to see each other very often. Nonetheless, after a few months Hermione found herself in something like a relationship. It wasn't exactly dating since they never made plans to see each other, and they had never really discussed what was going on between them. But Hermione was sure that Harry was just as happy as she was to have someone after having been alone for so long. That was why neither of them had been in a hurry to do anything more than enjoy the other's company. As of late, however, Hermione had begun to sense Harry's eagerness to take their relationship to the next level, whatever that meant. Sometimes, she knew, he would give her the type of look she remembered distinctly from her past. It was soul-searching and possessive, as if he somehow wanted to devour her whole. She had seen it in only one other person's eyes before. But she had probably only imagined it back then, so maybe she was just imagining it now.

That look was focused on her again, Hermione realized, and Harry was asking if she wanted another drink. She tried to swallow her embarrassment as he told her that it was his third time asking. Oh well; surely he should know by now that she was prone to a lapse into thought at any given moment. She nodded and Harry called the waitress over once again. After requesting another butterbeer, Harry began a description of his latest escapades within the bowels of the Ministry. Harry knew that Hermione greatly resented their methods of operation and that any stories about his job would most likely send her into an angry rant. It sometimes amused him more to watch her reactions that to recount the actual story. Harry, of course, had once felt the same way, but when offered the position of Chief Warlock he saw past their inefficiency to the possibility of somehow influencing the way the system worked. At least, that was what he'd told her.

Apparently, Harry was saying, there had been rumors that the elder Malfoy had been in Hogsmeade, and that notices were going to be put in the Prophet the next day. Harry eyed her more seriously as he gave her this information. Hermione imagined that he was looking for some sign of apprehension in her face, but he would find nothing like of the sort in her expression. Everyone witch and wizard, especially those closest to Harry Potter, knew that the Death Eater was not a threat, especially after Voldemort's fall. If the newest rumor was true, and not just the result of some witch's or wizard's boredom with the relative calm of their world (which was what Hermione suspected) then Lucius Malfoy would eventually be caught and jailed. But even with this self-reassurance, Hermione could not ignore the nervous twinge in her heart at Harry's words.

Harry was beginning another story about his day at the Ministry when a sudden commotion behind him took Hermione's attention. A woman and what looked to be a man were in the other corner of the tavern; the woman was sprawled on the floor and the man was standing, pulling his hood over his face. He glared at the witch as he did so.

Had she been a different witch perhaps Hermione would've screamed. Instead, she began to panic. That hair and those eyes…she must have imagined what she'd just seen. She had to remove herself from this situation before she could think properly.

"Harry," Hermione interrupted him, "can we go?"

Harry nodded quickly and stood, no questions asked, and waited for Hermione to button her cloak before wrapping his arm around her shoulder and leading her out of the tavern. Outside, Hermione began to recollect herself. She had been hallucinating when she thought she'd seen Draco Malfoy's eyes and hair, albeit longer, on the man in the tavern. Of course she hadn't; that was impossible. But then maybe it wasn't. And then suddenly that feeling she'd had since she'd heard the first rumor that morning came back to her again.

But her worry was forgotten upon realizing that they had stopped in front of her apartment, and that Harry was looking down at her rather expectantly.

"Uhh…we're here," he said.

"Right."

Silence.

"Do you want to come in?" she finally asked.

"Yeah."

He sounded almost relieved. Hermione quickly found her keys in the pocket of her cloak, her worry forgotten, and opened the door. Her apartment was at the top of this building, six flights up. Hermione realized as she led him up the stairs that this would be the first time Harry would see her apartment. Funny that it had taken them so long to get to this place.

* * *

Draco had walked purposely into the tavern just before closing time to sit over a large glass of firewhiskey and think—alone. He had been doing just that for an hour when a witch had walked over, uninvited, to his table and had taken a seat. Draco figured that she was drunk from the strong smell coming off her, and that ignoring her would be enough to send her off. Unfortunately, that had not happened. After five minutes of silence between them the witch had ordered another drink, and then turned to Draco and began to talk. She'd asked him for his name for another five minutes before he finally responded, and it was only to say that she should keep her voice down. The witch had laughed, asking him if he were afraid of her. Draco looked her straight in the eye—he figured she wouldn't remember what had happened the next day—and told her that there was nothing he was afraid of anymore. She laughed again, then told him how pretty he was, and then it was his turn to laugh. Obviously she was too inebriated to even register the fact that he smelled like a garbage pile and probably looked like one too.

For some reason Draco found this drunk entertaining, and let her continue talking to him. But then the witch had leaned over the table in an attempt to kiss him, which resulted in her and her drink falling onto the floor and a very angry Draco pulling his hood back over his face. Draco had still been standing when he noticed the couple heading out of the tavern, and suddenly it was as if everything else in the room had blurred into nothingness.

He knew that hair despite the fact that it had grown down to her waist, and the raven hair of her counterpart only confirmed who he thought it was. Draco considered calling out to her, then recalled where he was and what his circumstances were. He knew, however, that he could not let her walk away. He wanted to see her, maybe talk to her even…

The drunken witch was still on the floor and Draco hurriedly stepped over her and walked to the door. Hermione and Harry had already left, and Draco did not hesitate in following them. After casting a silencing charm on his feet, he stepped out into the cold December night, and looked around, hoping that they hadn't gotten too far. He spotted them yards down the street, walking towards the direction of the apartments at the end of the village. Draco silently followed the pair at a distance, watching the hair that swung down her back and the arm wrapped around her shoulder. After about ten minutes they stopped in front of the apartment and Draco hid himself behind a nearby building, then peered around the wall to see them both entering the building. The door shut silently behind them, and after a few moments Draco thought that perhaps he should move.

Had Draco really been holding onto the insane hope that one day he would meet her again and win her back? The truth was that his very hope for something better was probably what had kept him alive in prison. And up to that moment his conscious thought had been focused solely on what he would do with himself, but in the back of his mind thoughts of Hermione were what pushed him to continue on. If only an idea, at least it was something to live for. Though, he should not have been so naïve as to think that while he was imprisoned she would remain unattached forever. Perhaps under different circumstances he might have even been bitter because she was with Harry Potter now, but for the moment all he knew was that his fantasy was very quickly crumbling around him.

* * *

**SPOILER RESPONSES:**

**Can-I-Bounce-The-Ferret**: Occlumency…exactly! Yes, I agree.

**MataHari79**: You know, I had that idea too, but I'm not quite sure how it would tie into the rest of the story.

**maddudewalking**: I cannot tell you who helped him escape, or who tried to kill him, or what happens next. But no, he wasn't jailed for that murder. I am going to try to keep this story as close to the book as possible, though I'm not sure I can pull it off.

**lnk**: I would hope so.

**NorthStar2005**: Brilliant. Brilliant I say.


	3. A Meeting

**Weaselbee**: Heh. Sorry.

**Soofija**: I'm sure she loves Harry, but perhaps not in the way you fear…?

**NorthStar2005**: And she will. :D

**aloneinaworldofdarkness**: Oh my flipping god, do you think I would do that to you? Seriously?

**EquestrianBabe**: Hey hey, my favorite Dudley/Hermione shipper. Ah that reminds me…

Thanks to **padfootedmoony**, **Skylar**, **lnk**, **zurkie**, **R3mZ!MLU**, **maddudewalking**, **HiraTsubasa**, **Sunflower18**, **Arime Setta**, and **Moonglitter2** for reviewing.

Sorry about the shortness of this chapter, but there's a bit of a reason for it. Spoiler responses at bottom…Also, if anyone's looking to read a story that's really out there, go check out **Of Muggles And Coffee** by EquestrianBabe. It's a Hermione/Dudley fic, but don't let that simple fact deter you. It's very well written…

* * *

**A Meeting**

Why he chose to submerge himself in this kind of torture was something Draco had not yet gotten around to figuring out. There were other things for him to worry about. His money supply was getting dangerously low, and he was beginning to crave foods other than chocolate. But he had spent the greater part of the day staring up at her building and wondering what had happened to her after all these years. He had wandered around Hogsmeade in an attempt to erase the previous night's visions from his mind, but his feet always brought him back to the apartment building.

Standing in front of her building, he wondered how long she had been with Potter, if maybe it had started when he'd seen Harry's arms around her as she buried her face in his shoulders and refused to look at the defendant's chair. He wondered what she was doing now and what she had been doing since he'd last seen her. Mostly he wondered if she remembered him at all, though it was doubtful. For a while sitting in his cell he had wished to forget her, to forget the idea of having something that was truly unreachable. That wish had never come true, and he had accepted it. But Draco was not under the illusion that she was anything like him. She would not remember him, not when she had so many other things and people to make her happy. She would not wish to be with him during the darkest hours of the night.

The sky was quickly turning to black when Draco finally looked up. He had wasted an entire day on that spot, but at least with the cover of night he would be less easy to recognize. Slowly he rose from the side of her building and began walking towards the less-secluded part of town, trying to decide where he would go next. After a few steps, however, he heard the POP! of Apparation and suddenly, a few yards in front of him, was the subject of all his thoughts. For a while she peered through the darkening air, then gasped.

"Draco…Malfoy?" The end of her sentence was weak and all color drained from her face.

"Hermione…"

He was tempted to tell her everything right there, but she had already taken out her wand.

"Expelliarmus!" and then he was thrown some yards to the right. Draco closed his eyes in pain and then opened them to see Hermione staring down at him in horror. She looked at him with widened eyes a few seconds more before turning and running away.

Draco waited until he could no longer hear her footsteps and then sat up and rubbed the back of his forehead. There was no blood, he thankfully noted as he looked around. Hermione was gone, and Draco was going to have a serious talk with himself; but that would have to wait until he was no longer completely open to attack. Draco waited a few seconds more before he stood and Apparated away.

* * *

Hermione waited until her apartment door was shut and locked before she panicked. She wasn't really the type to fall apart, and she dearly wished her mind was playing tricks on her. But it had been all too real, like a nightmare taken directly from a dream. Hermione leaned her head against the door, trying to calm herself, then jumped away from it with the thought that maybe he had followed her into the building. But that was silly; even if he had, her apartment had been warded against Apparation a long time ago. All the same she backed away from the door, not taking her eyes off it, and sat on the couch, then looked around the room. Everything seemed normal enough; the fireplace stood looking unused (she'd warded that too), the couch on which she sat was the same (she hoped), her shelves and tables and books looked unhandled. Hermione sat back and let the paranoia pass from her before she turned her gaze to the rest of her apartment. A quick check of the kitchen turned up nothing, and so Hermione finally entered her bedroom. After surveying the area, Hermione sank into her bed face-up and tried to go over what had just happened in a rational manner. Draco Malfoy had been in front of her apartment, which almost certainly meant he knew where she lived…which all meant that he had escaped from prison. Which meant that the person the authorities would eventually be hunting was not Lucius Malfoy, but his son. Which meant… 

Which meant that at the end of it all she was a silly girl. She knew what she should do next—report the incident to the Ministry—but she also knew she wasn't going to. Hermione knew she couldn't bring herself to do something so hateful to him, even though what had once been between them was long since over. Some part of her brain ran through all the reasons she should; he was a criminal, he was probably dangerous, someone would find out that she'd known, and then she would be in trouble. And now that she was definitely dating the head of the Wizengamot, said head would also probably be bothered by the fact that she hadn't mentioned anything to him. An image of Harry rose to mind, to be quickly replaced with what she had just seen of Draco Malfoy. His eyes had been large and dark and his face was dirty; from the brief look she'd taken he had seemed unbelievably thin all over. And he was pale, paler than she'd ever known him to be. But surprisingly, the hair of his face and beard was still that brilliant blond she remembered. She could tell, even under the dirt and length of it all.

She really was a silly girl. For a few moments she had considered keeping quiet about what had just happened. Funnily, the beard was what had convinced her—this was not the Draco she had known in her school days, though who that particular person was she couldn't truly say. But it was hard for her to think of him in this respect. After a while she had simply forced herself to forget about him. She had spent months after the winter holiday and the trials trying to figure out who Draco Malfoy was, or what he had been when she'd known him. The answer had never come to her. There was just too much to consider, and now all the insecurity and confusion and feelings of betrayal from that time had come back full force. She had eventually managed to bury those thoughts in place of happier, less complicated ones—something she'd had to do in order to live with her sanity intact—but that night, Hermione once again fell asleep while trying to solve the puzzle of what exactly was going on in the head of Draco Malfoy.

* * *

It was completely reasonable that loitering in front of someone's building for long enough would eventually result in a run-in with said person. Truthfully, Draco had not been expecting to see her when he'd frequented the space in front of her apartment. And the event in itself had been completely wrong. He was still dirty and most likely smelly—no wonder she had been so repulsed. However, no matter how many times he had imagined meeting her, none of the scenarios included him on the ground after taking a harmless but still powerful _Expelliarmus_ in the gut. However, her opinion of him was the least of his worries at the moment. He had been seen, and by someone whose memory would be more than reliable. Judging by her behavior, she would probably be at the Ministry's doors by the morning. And while Draco no longer had any doubt of his ability to stay well-hidden, with the Ministry alerted to his escape, he would have to be even more careful than he already had been. 

Draco hesitantly landed himself in the interior of the Manor. He did not want to stay in the deserted house, but the encounter with Hermione had left him slightly shaken. Much as he wished it were different, the Manor was probably the one place he would be relatively safe until the morning—or, at least it would feel that way to him. Draco climbed the staircase to the second story, and approached his former bedroom for the second time that week. There was no one in the room—truly he was paranoid—and Draco gratefully approached the bed, not caring that it was probably covered in as much dirt as he was. He collapsed in a cloud of dust and within seconds was asleep.

* * *

**Laura**: I agree. 

**MataHari79**: Excellent point. I agree about not begging and especially about not fearing death. I hadn't thought of that before.


	4. And So We Meet Again

**gigglingmunky**: Well, I didn't want you to only be checking for errors, because some people do read simply to criticize without also enjoying the story. And I do want you to continue reading…

**Moonglitter2**: Darn. I was hoping that once they met up again they'd just hop in the sack.

**NorthStar2005**: Oh, don't worry. That was going to happen no matter what. I've had the idea of Hermione hexing him for too long. I promise, though, that when they next meet she will be a lot nicer.

**eventers club**: I hate to give this away, but yes, they will.

**Arime Setta**: Hmm. Soon? I suppose I'll have to do that, won't I? Well, ok, here's what: after this chapter, you'll be finding out a lot more.

**Kaoz of Slytherin**: Thank you; I've made a few other mistakes, but hopefully you'll forgive me?

And a load of thanks to everyone else that reviewed—you know who you are.

Now, on to the chapter!

* * *

**And So We Meet Again…**

Draco awoke to find that something was amiss. After opening his eyes and focusing his vision, he immediately saw what that was: his father's face, hovering above his own, in a parody of fatherly affection.

"Draco—so nice to see you're finally awake," Lucius said. "Come, let's have some tea and discuss the past few years."

Before he could lift a hand in protest, Draco found himself bound by invisible ropes and floating down the stairs to the main dining hall. When they had approached the table in the middle of the room, Lucius adjusted Draco's position so that he was sitting in a chair, still bound and unable to reach the wand in his pocket.

Lucius waved his wand, and a tea service appeared. He took one cup and another floated towards his son's lips. Draco looked at it as if willing it to implode.

"Aren't you going to have some tea, Draco?" Lucius asked as the cup began filling itself with steaming liquid. "Bad manners, really. What happened to everything I taught you?" The way in which Lucius uttered his last question made it seem more like an accusation, and the look in his eyes was nothing if not angry.

Draco wanted nothing more than to Apparate away, but doubted that the magic in his bonds would allow him to do so. _But it never hurts to try…_Without breaking eye contact with his father, Draco focused on a darkened alley in Hogsmeade and…nothing. Oh well. So the easiest way out was closed to him. Draco settled instead for the first step in regaining his liberty.

"I would find it easier to do with the use of my arm," Draco finally said in reply to his father's question.

"Very well," Lucius said.

Draco gratefully reached for his cup of tea and finally began to register the rest of his surroundings. If everything were not covered in a thin layer of dust, he would say that the dining room looked exactly as it did when all the Malfoys lived there six years ago. Well, that would be true excepting the fact that Lucius was serving the tea. After wondering for a few moments where the house elves had gone off to, Draco finally let his gaze fall onto his father. Lucius didn't look to be in a much better state than his son, which gave Draco a bit of comfort. In fact, Lucius looked as if he had also just gotten out of Azkaban.

Suddenly the events of the past few days began to make sense to Draco. No wonder the wandmaker had mistaken him for his father—Lucius had been already on the loose by that time. And if his father had escaped from Azkaban, how much more difficult would it have been for him to return…?

"_You _tried to kill me?" Draco yelled.

"Actually, the dementors wouldn't have killed you, and you know that. I'm sorry about that, by the way."

Draco stared at him incredulously.

"I truly am," Lucius continued. "I've decided that we should talk first."

"About what?"

"About what?!" Lucius seemed just as surprised as Draco by the turn the conversation had taken. "About what you have done. About how you betrayed the Dark Lord. For that…Mudblood—Hermione Granger was her name?"

Draco was speechless. With each word his father spoke, the knife that had lodged in his heart was pushed deeper.

"Draco!"

"Yes?"

"Do you have anything to say to defend yourself?"

Draco was silent again.

"Is this really true?"

"Yes."

Draco found that finally being able to admit the truth was not the release he'd thought it would be. Instead of the freedom of mind and soul that he'd imagined, Draco found himself burdened with long-forgotten fears. Now what was to stop his father from killing him and then turning his attention to Hermione? Draco found himself wishing he'd continued to lie. His life had suddenly changed, and if not for the fact that Hermione was still alive—if not his to claim—he would say that he had nothing to lose.

"Draco…" Lucius looked and sounded as if he were in agony. "How could you do this? I can't tell you how long I spent trying to figure out a way that what your mother said was fiction—I read her mind…"

"Mother?"

"Yes, and it was too much—"

"Where is she?"

"That…Mudblood…"

Draco chose to ignore the slur his father had pronounced. "No—Mother."

"Oh." For the first time since the beginning of their conversation his father seemed lucid. "I—I killed her."

"You what?!" The cup was out of Draco's hand and flying towards his father's face before he knew what he was doing. The time it took for Lucius to duck the steaming beverage was all that Draco needed to feel around for his wand, pull it from his robes, and perform a severing charm on his bonds. As Draco jumped to his feet, two thoughts battled inside his head: the necessity of escape and the desire to know exactly what had happened to his mother.

"Why?" Draco yelled, then fell to the floor as he dodged a hex sent to him by Lucius' wand.

"It was a mistake," Lucius replied. "Made in anger. She did not deserve her death, not like you."

Draco was both surprised and relieved when his father sent the Killing Curse toward him. _He must be losing his touch,_ Draco thought as he rolled out of the way;_he would have tried to do some damage before he killed me if he were completely sane_.

Now that he had found out what he'd wanted to know, the thought of escaping was foremost on Draco's mind. Hoping that he wouldn't splinch himself, Draco ran towards the front door of the Manor. He closed it when he had reached the other side, then concentrated on the place where he'd last seen Hermione. Draco hoped without any expectation that she would be as merciful as he'd known her to be in the past. The last thing Draco saw and felt before he Disapparated was Lucius' face twisted in fury, and the heat of a blue hex as it flew toward him.

* * *

Hermione awoke feeling satisfied. Not only had she disarmed the bastard, she hadn't felt any remorse later when she'd looked out her window and seen Draco Disapparate away. Even if she didn't have the strongest wards she could find in place around her flat, and even if Draco hadn't looked like he could barely hold his wand (she felt a little twitch of guilt at harming someone who clearly had no strength to fight), Hermione would have felt safe. Never in all the time since that Christmas vacation six years ago had she felt that Draco would harm her.

Actually, the more she thought about it, the more Hermione began to question just what had happened last night. Since when did Draco Malfoy appear on her figurative doorstep in the middle of a crowded village? Why wasn't he in Azkaban like he was supposed to be? And what would she do if she saw him again?

With those thoughts in mind, Hermione walked over to her window and drew open the shades, then gasped as she saw the subject of her thoughts lying prostrate in the snow. She quickly closed the curtains, and her eyes, but the image of Draco's body against the backdrop of the snow remained in her mind's eye. Cursing herself even as she knew what she was going to do, Hermione opened her eyes and walked toward the door.

* * *

Hermione made sure that no one was on the street before she opened the door to the building. She levitated Draco's body toward her, then followed it up the stairs to her apartment. She searched for any sign of consciousness; seeing none, she continued on with Draco to the bedroom. After laying his body on the bed, Hermione considered Draco's form in its entirety.

He was thin to the point of death, she observed, and covered in five years' worth of dirt. The hair on his head and face had grown past his shoulders. It all had the effect of making him look older than his twenty-three years. Hermione was tempted to _Evanesco_ it all away, but then figured that it might not be a very good decision. She decided to wake him instead, and see what answers he would give her.

As a precaution, Hermione bound him before she pronounced _Ennervate_. Draco's eyes opened immediately and fixed onto Hermione's face. He seemed as if he were going to speak, but then stopped as if realizing something. Draco struggled against his bonds for less than a minute, then gave up and refocused his attention on Hermione.

"Is there something exciting about binding a man when he's helpless that I don't know about?"

Hermione frowned at him s she sat on the edge of the bed and wondered what he was talking about.

"Well," Draco began, "this morning when I woke up my father did the exact same thing to me that you've done."

"Your father?!"

The latest _Daily Prophet_ headline rose to Hermione's mind: MALFOY SR. AND JR. BAND TOGETHER IN RECENT AZKABAN ESCAPE. But Hermione cast aside the _Prophet_'s supposition; if Lucius had bound Draco, then the Malfoys probably weren't on the best terms with each other.

Hermione considered the fact that Draco and Lucius Malfoy were on opposing sides, which meant that Draco was possibly on their side—if there were even sides to begin with. Hermione then toyed with the idea of loosening Draco's bonds, but discarded it as she still hadn't gotten answers to the questions that were forming in her head.

"So what are you doing here?" Hermione asked.

"Well…I told myself—or, rather, hoped—that you wouldn't hex me this time if you knew my situation."

"All right." Hermione found herself agreeing before she could fully process what she'd said yes to. "So…you escaped from Azkaban."

"In a way. My father let me out—"

"So what the _Prophet_'s saying is true?"

Draco was only mildly surprised that the _Prophet_ had botched the details of his escape. "Well, the truth is actually that he tried to kill me, and failed, which is why I'm here now."

Draco took Hermione's silence and his own words as a cue to look around the room. Hermione's bedroom was rather boring, he thought. Nothing like his room at the Manor. His room housed all the splendor that innumerable piled of Galleons in the Gringotts vaults could give to a boy's room: a daybed and a regular bed both covered in satin sheets; pillows everywhere the eye looked; Persian rugs with intricate designs that were heaven to walk on; wall sconces of solid silver and gold; and all of this in dark, rich colors.

Hermione's room in contract was Spartan in design—monochromatic (blue), two lamps in opposite corners of the room, two pillows on the single bed which Draco was currently resting on, and a few pictures on the bedside table. That wasn't everything in the room, but it was all Draco could see from his position on the bed.

Hermione noticed the curiosity Draco had taken in her bedroom's furnishings and contemplated once again freeing him, but again rejected the idea as too hasty.

"Finish your story," she said instead.

"Oh yes. Well, after I reached Scotland I figured I should get a wand before I did anything else—"

"And so you robbed that wandmaker," Hermione said, and glared at Draco. He looked unabashed.

"Well, what would you have me do? Anyway, to make a long story short, I saw you were here in town, and after our first meeting, I thought my house would be a friendlier place. I was wrong, and my father was there, and tried to kill me again. So I came back here hoping that you might suspect the truth and be willing to help." The last part came out of Draco's mouth as more of a question than a statement.

"Well…This is an unusual situation. What am I supposed to do for you? Who knows what will happen to me for housing a fugitive? And Harry's the head of the Wizengamot now…" Hermione clutched her face in frustration. "Fine," she said after a moment. "_Finite Incantatem_. _Accio_ Draco's wand." She put it in her pocket and stood. "The best I can suggest to you is that you go into hiding as soon as possible. The Ministry will have the Aurors looking out for you very soon. But you can't stay here."

"That's fine," Draco said as he began to stand. "It's more than I should've expected." He took a step towards the door, then gasped and clutched his stomach.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked as Draco sank to the floor.

"My father…he hit me with some hex as I was Apparating—I think I caught the edge of it."

Hermione wasted no time in assisting Draco from the floor back to the bed. She quickly pulled open his robes and ignored his protesting "Hey!" over his state of undress. The area of Draco's stomach that had taken the hit was obvious—a bright red bruise about the size of Hermione's hand that had already begun to purple around the edges.

She almost sighed in relief. "It doesn't look that bad, but I can doubt I can do much for the pain. Does it hurt a lot?"

Hermione didn't believe very much the 'no' he responded with.

"I'm going to go to the Apothecary and see what I can find for you. I'll be back soon." She pulled his wand from her pocket and tossed it next to him on the bed. "Just in case—and if I come back to find that anything's moved, I will not be a very happy person."

With that warning, Hermione turned away from Draco, opened the bedroom door, and was gone.

* * *

As soon as he was sure she'd left the apartment, Draco got to his feet and set himself the task of finding the bathroom. He hobbled inside and tried to ignore the pain that came from his efforts to undress. When he was totally bare, Draco turned towards the mirror and began to examine the damage done by Lucius' hex. It was more painful than it appeared, probably on account of being administered by magic, and not by a fist, for example.

Draco moved his attention away from the bruise and perused the rest of his body. He was too skinny—unsurprising because of where he'd been for the past few years. And the hair on his head and his face made him look like a Neanderthal. Draco gladly shaved his skin smooth and cut the hair on his head to within two inches of his scalp. He then used his wand to erase the marks created on his skin by the hex. Draco was so intent on his task that he did not hear Hermione step into the bathroom behind him.

* * *

When Hermione had returned to her apartment she did not find Draco lying on the bed as she'd expected. She then headed to the only other room with a door in the apartment, and stifled a gasp as she came upon Draco standing in front of the mirror as naked as when he'd first entered the world. After gathering as much indifference as she could, Hermione said, "I thought I'd told you to stay put."

Draco was not as composed as Hermione, however, and reflexively grabbed the dirty robes from the floor and wrapped it around his midsection.

"You know, you're as thin as a toothpick," Hermione observed. "Come back into the bedroom. And what did you do to that hex mark?"

Draco reluctantly followed Hermione into the bedroom and pulled the covers over his still-nude body as soon as he reached the bed. She immediately took the covers and began to pull them off his body. He resisted, and she glared.

"If you don't let go of my sheets right now, I will force you to lie there naked while I give you these potions."

With a glare that matched Hermione's Draco let go of the sheets. Hermione then rolled them down to just below his navel where the bruise had ended when it was still visible.

"Ah, still there I see," she said as she poked the area with her wand and Draco yelled out. "Now…" she reached into a bag on the floor and sat down on the bed next to Draco's stomach. "This one is for the pain." She shook the bottle in her hand and uncorked it. "Drink up."

Draco obediently took the potion from Hermione's hands, and grimaced as the first taste of it reached his tongue.

"This one," she continued as soon as he had finished, "is a Strengthening Solution." This one, Draco thought, tasted worst than the other. He looked at the bag of potions and wondered how many more bottles were left.

"And this one is a Muscle Replenisher. I'm sorry to say that you won't be entering any bodybuilding competitions when it's done its work, but you'll have regained most of what you lost. And now you should rest. Would you like something to help you fall asleep or do you think you can sleep on your own?"

Hermione found that she enjoyed the discomfort that had appeared on Draco's face as he drank the potions and when she was prodding him with her wand. It was uncharacteristic of her to enjoy another person's suffering, but now that she knew he was in no real danger she couldn't help herself. Hermione knew that she was doing it as payback for the long-forgotten pain that he had caused her; and while his pain did nothing to ease the memories that were coming back unbidden, she felt slightly better about her own discomfort.

"I'll go naturally," Draco responded quickly.

"Ok then," Hermione said as she stood. "And this time, if you don't stay put I will make sure you regret it. It's for your own good," she said as she closed the door behind her.

Hermione walked into the living area and sat down on the couch. She picked up the latest edition of the Daily Prophet and scanned the paper for stories about the Malfoys' breakout from Azkaban. Hermione smiled to herself—if only they knew that she was housing one of them in her bedroom at that very moment. And if she could only keep her eyes open…The last thing Hermione saw before she closed her eyes were the hands of the clock on her coffee table pointing toward the ten and the three.

* * *

When Hermione awoke the clock was reading 12:30. More than two hours had passed, and she would have thought her fatigue to be incredible had she not lost so much sleep last night worrying that Draco would reappear on her doorstep. Which was silly because there he was now in her apartment.

Recalled by this particular fact to the change that had just taken place in her life, Hermione rose to see how Draco was doing. She almost let out a curse upon opening the bedroom door and finding the room empty, then emitted a squeak of surprise when she turned around and found Draco standing behind her.

"Sorry," he said, and stepped back, so that Hermione had a better view of him. His lower regions were wrapped in a white towel that contrasted with the redness of his skin. And he was clean—that much Hermione could tell from the fact that he was as red as a boiled lobster. Somehow, in spite of his bizarre appearance he looked to her as he had years ago, and made her feel as if no time at all had passed since they'd last looked into each other's eyes.

He repeated his apology once again as he watched Hermione appraise him. As her eyes moved away from the towel he wore he found himself becoming aroused by her scrutiny. He thanked whoever was watching over him that her gaze had returned to his face. In an effort to distract himself, Draco began to explain the obvious. "I had to borrow your towel, you see, because I didn't have my own—but I'm clean now."

"You look like someone's boiled you in a pot," Hermione said, then smiled.

"Yeah, well…" Draco was distracted once again by her smile. "You would too if you felt as dirty as I did."

Draco's words served to bring Hermione back to the present, and the smile on her face slipped. "Right. Let's get you into some clothes, then." She walked over to her bed, kneeled onto the floor, and brought a box into view. Hermione pulled a wrinkled shirt from the box and held it up for Draco to see. "I can Transfigure this one into a different shirt—"

Draco saw what she was about to do and felt compelled to stop her. "You don't have to do that, Hermione."

Upon hearing him say her name, Hermione looked up.

"So what would you rather do, then, walk into the village looking the way you do right now? It's fine, I've been wanting to get rid of these clothes for—"

Her last words were cut off by the sound of someone's voice coming loudly from her living room. "Hermione, you there? Want to go out for lunch today?"

"Agh, that's Harry!" Hermione looked at Draco in dismay.

"Here?!"

"God, no, that's just him using the speaker from downstairs. But he'll be up here soon. You stay here—and do whatever you'd like with what's in that box!"

With these hastily pronounced words, Hermione ran from the room and shut the door on Draco for the third time that day.

* * *

I may have stolen the Muscle Replenisher from someone else's story, but I can't remember whose. If it's yours—forgive me. And yes, I am sorry for the very long gap between this chapter and the previous one. And I apologize for any mistakes I've made in this chapter; perhaps I should consider getting a beta? I think someone offered to do it for me…

coldlove


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